“The adopted child has been sent back to the orphanage. It’s embarrassing, but breathe a sigh of relief.”

I hesitated for a long time to write. I was ashamed of my behavior and helplessness. I wanted to do a good deed, give a family to the orphan, but I failed and had to take the boy back to the orphanage. Scold me, write about how heartless I am—I’m ready to hear any of your comments.

I’ll start again. I’ve been married for a long time to the best man in the world. We are raising two daughters who are already in school. I’m a responsible mother, taking care of the girls. I regularly do homework with them, take them to singing and dancing. My husband has long wanted a son, but for health reasons, I couldn’t give birth to him. So, I suggested that my husband adopt a boy from the orphanage. We went through the adoptive parents’ school, gathered all the documents, and went to the orphanage. We immediately found ‘our’ boy, just as we imagined him: blond, but with sad eyes. Initially, I had to establish contact with the child. The boy was eight years old, but he couldn’t write or read. He had lived on the streets for a long time until social services removed him from his alcoholic parents.

Once contact was established and the legal process completed, we brought the boy home. From the first day, I took over his education. I enrolled him in the second grade, refusing to place him in the first, even though he didn’t even know the basics. I was sure I would have time to prepare him, as there was still a month before school started. But no matter how hard I tried, my son stubbornly refused or couldn’t learn those letters.

Initially, he was like an angel, but after a week, I could no longer recognize the child. He behaved disgustingly: breaking the younger girl’s toys, smashing the older one’s phone, constantly arguing, and not listening to us. And one day, he just disappeared. We went to the playground, and while I was talking to a neighbor, my son disappeared. I went to call him into the house. I blamed myself for neglecting the child. But who would have thought he would do such a thing. I found him in the basement of our house, sitting there on the pipes. Brought him home and washed him. Scolded him as much as I could. Then I cried for a long time, realizing that I couldn’t cope.

It got worse with the start of the school process. Every day, the teacher told me that my child did not respect discipline, did not follow the curriculum, and needed to go to the first year of boarding school, not a regular school. I was depressed. I used to listen to the praises of my daughters’ teachers, but here, there were constant reproaches. Out of shame, I was ready to fall through the floor. But I hoped that this adaptation was just how my son was. I took him to see a psychologist and a neurologist. It was time to see a psychiatrist myself.

I started having anger outbursts. And on a flat surface. I was completely disappointed in myself as the mother of an adopted child. He was completely uncontrollable, and I couldn’t make him obey. The girls cried constantly and asked to bring the boy back to where we got him. My husband, as a man, had no influence on him; he couldn’t become an authority for his son. There were quarrels in our family about it.

Once, I noticed the loss of a significant amount of money from the wallet. It was the money that was supposed to be paid on the loan. I already knew who to ask. I called the kids, but it turned out my son wasn’t at home; he had packed his bags and run away. I had an anger outburst like I had never had before. It’s good that it was a day off, and my husband was there. He called an ambulance, and they took me to the hospital.

While I was under sedation, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I remember my husband saying he found his son and sorted everything out. When I was released, at home, I only saw the girls. My husband took his son back to the orphanage and filled out all the paperwork

. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I sighed with relief and burst into tears. I felt sorry for myself, my husband, my daughters, and that boy. I failed; I wanted to give the child a family, love, and care, and I couldn’t. Now, I am tormented by a feeling of shame; it seems like everyone is pointing fingers at me and condemning me. I just want to leave this town.”

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